The Issue with Fame

By S.R. McKenzie

A therapist struggles to separate his unconventional practice with his rich and famous clientele, from his own meaningless life. He manipulates, contrives, and coerces his clients and the people around the client, for the good of the client.

His most recent client is a world famous musician, on a downward spiral of self-destruction. The therapist tries to help the famous musician fix damaged relationships, get his tabloid career back on track, conquer his addictions, and rebuild his fragile ego.

Results, at any cost.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S.R. McKenzie
• Release date: Oct 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9780995172081

S.R. McKenzie

So who am I? I like to be vague in my stories, and about myself. Honestly telling people who I am is painful, I’d rather eat paint chips. All I will say about myself, is that I am from the frozen prairies of Canada. I now live between the Canadian Napa Valley (heaven on earth) and lower mainland (metropolitan traffic hell). I'm 37 and I have 5 children, aged 21, 11, 9, 5 & 3, and I love every second of it. I own 4 small businesses, yes 4, all completely different, and I love them all like my babies. I also volunteer overnight at a homeless shelter at least once a week. So you are probably wondering when I have time to write? I write when most normal people are doing that thing called sleep, I will get around to that someday. Most people write because they have a good idea, or good story to tell.... I have neither, or maybe both, you decide. I write because I am absolutely obsessed with it, and with staying sane. My life is like Robert Frost poem, “the road not taken”, except I took neither path. I made my own path right through the forest, and I have the scars to prove it.

Book preview

Enter the Agent

A therapist struggles to separate his unconventional practice with his rich and famous clientele, from his own meaningless life. He manipulates, contrives, and coerces his clients and the people around the client, for the good of the client.

His most recent client is a world famous musician, on a downward spiral of self-destruction. The therapist tries to help the famous musician fix damaged relationships, get his tabloid career back on track, conquer his addictions, and rebuild his fragile ego.

Results, at any cost

Enter the Entertainment Agent, the Famous Musician, the Huge Bodyguard, and the livid Event Director into the Musician’s dressing room, it’s fuckin swanky in here! I am already sitting on the couch; I have been here for hours waiting, practicing my persona, rehearsing my role in my head, directing all the actors in my little play in advance of their great performance.

All my actors are now here, plus the Famous Musician. It’s a fucking entourage of chaos bursting into the room, transparency of the filth of the entertainment industry...

Everyone is acting their part perfectly.

This dressing room is like an asshole CEOs hotel room in a 3 star resort, it’s trying to be high class, but it doesn’t hide its trashiness. The music is still pounding from upstairs from the after show, it’s the Shows over Folks, now get the fuck out music. But the crowd is still going crazy!

SCREAMING, MUSIC POUNDING, HOLY SHIT HOW CAN ANYONE LIVE IS THIS FUCKING MADNESS!

It’s like living is a rave filled with blow, booze, hoes, and, my least favorite, the rats and leaches of the entertainment business.

The huge black bodyguard, Jerome. Figures his name is Jerome, I didn’t think his name was going to be Nigel, Hugh, or fucking Sebastian!

He looks like a coal black fridge with arms, and a huge gold chain, he’s a good kind man though, he just has a job to do, pay his bills, and look after this little fuckin puke.

The Entertainment Agent, shy fucking nerd, I almost threw this little puke through the wall earlier tonight. He got this agent job because he is somebody at the record company’s nephew, or someone’s little cousin. Whatever you little shitface, as long you follow the plan and he leaves before I pick him up and throw his scrawny ass out.

The livid Event Director, all these guys are the same, all coked out, looking like a sleazy insurance agent after a hard night a drinking and peddling shit.

He is fucking red and hot with raging anger, if he doesn’t explode on cue, this whole thing falls apart, give me your anger your cheesy grease ball.

Ah, the Famous Musician, early 30s, shirt unbuttoned, pretending to be John Morrison or Rod Stewart, or fucking heroin Jesus. All these guys want to be rock gods, and end up like a shadow of who can before, and NO ONE REMEMBERS THESE GUYS.

He is running dry and getting nervous, and is getting sicker by the minute from not getting his blow, which he is expecting any minute, but it is not coming.

This is the first day someone will end his self-destructive mindless bullshit.

He wants everyone out of his dressing room as soon as possible so he can get his shit to get well. He is so out of it, I am not sure if he even notices me sitting all spread out on his couch.

I FUCKING OWN THIS ROOM, AND HE IS MY BITCH, HE JUST DOESN’T KNOW IT YET!

I always look at these guys with such pity, so much talent, so such much influence they could have, such love and fame they own, but they all waste it and they ALL die the same death, sad and lonely, broken and empty.

They are like drugged out shells of who they could be, or like snake skins shed and left to fall apart.

It’s time for the Event Director to EXPLODE at the Famous Musician. Even with the rehearsal we did an hour ago, I don’t think he needs to take my cue to start the scene, I directed this all in advance, and all the actors know their part so well.

I just sit here and fucking glow with excitement and pride with being the smartest guy in the room!

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The Event director, slight English accent, directing his anger towards the Famous Musician. WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT SHIT????? I GET BETTER SHOWS DURING THE WEEK, AND YOU ARE THE MAIN FUCKING EVENT TONIGHT, AND YOU FUCKING SUCKED!!! YOU ARE NEVER PLAYING HERE AGAIN, AND YOU CAN KISS YOUR CHEQUE....GOODBYE. FUCK BULLSHIT!!!

Then he slams the door on his way out, that was fuckin beautiful and perfect, cue the bodyguard to follow outside to watch the door. Then cue the Entertainment Agent.... cue the Agent.... ANY FUCKIN TIME NOW, and stop stalling, say it and GET THE HELL OUT YOU LITTLE BITCH.

Famous Musician, notices me on his couch, and he shoots a bit of anger towards me, BRING IT ON KID. Who the HELL Are you...Get the FUCK OUT. Speakin in his London Proper tongue. Pointing at the door, expecting me to jump and run scared out the door, Kid I am not leaving till you are passed out, I promise.

Entertainment agent I wouldn’t worry about it Andre, you are a ROCK GOD, and you don’t need this little show...we will move on and do better next time!

Now get out. He doesn’t even look at me, he just spits his line out like a lazy little shit actor cashing a cheque, and expects the rest of the scene to flow, HOLY SHIT that was terrible!

He is just looking at his clipboard, like he is praying to be dismissed so he can cower in fear and shame alone outside of this scene and room.

I don’t blame him, it’s been his poor nature that has enabled this addict to spiral so far out of control. He is like a dog standing there waiting for his owner to throw the ball out the door, so he can chase it.

Musician, now less angry, but getting more annoyed at my presence, and getting sicker by the minute. OK, just get out, I need to relax, and I am expecting someone soon. And take this FUCKING GUY WITH YOU!!

And the Agent bolts out the door like the dog he is chasing the bone.

Musician, a lot angrier, and almost ready to fight. Did you NOT hear me, GET THE FUCK OUT, or my guy Jerome, WILL FUCK YOU UP!!!!

I just sit there, not moving a muscle, slightly smiling, and very comfortable. Kid this is the millionth time I have done this, and I win every time.

Musician You think this is FUCKING funny chump, you won’t be laughing soon. He goes to the door and tries to open it, locked. Surprised, he pounds the door and demands for Jerome to get in here. Then Jerome fucks up, oh man this is going to get me punched. Jerome opens the door and looks pretty frazzled, FUCK, not again Jerome.

I FUCKING YELL. GET THE FUCK OUT!!!! Jerome looks back and forth a few times, trying to decide between doing his duty, and the right thing, if he is smart he will just leave. Jerome fucks up again, and says Ya boss? to his piece of shit Famous Musician boss.

That is when I get up and say I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT NIGER!!! And he bolts, and locks the door.

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Finally some peace and quiet in